The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2)

by Jon Messenger

  “None, but I doubt very much it would matter. When the economy is suffering and jobs are scarce, the circumstances of employment matter less and less.”

  “It’s true,” Mattie added. “I was once forced to take a position as a servant’s maid to provide income.”

  Luthor turned toward her in surprise. “Truthfully? I can’t imagine that went well, considering you were no longer employed when we arrived in Haversham.”

  “No,” Mattie replied, blushing. “My employer and I had a disagreement about what extracurricular activities were expected of a maid.”

  Simon smirked. “I can’t imagine that ended well for him.”

  “Unfortunately, no. In my frustration, I might have bitten him.”

  “Hard enough to draw blood?” Luthor asked as he tried to stifle a laugh.

  “Hard enough to remove a pair of fingers from the offending hand.”

  The two men shared a look and humored smile. “Then it’s settled,” Simon remarked. “No one shall touch Miss Hawke without her expressed consent.”

  “Indeed,” Luthor concluded. “I’m far too attached to my hands.”

  “On the contrary,” Mattie joked, “I wouldn’t bite either of you unless I had your consent.”

  Both men blushed furiously, having been outwitted by the diminutive redhead.

  “To the issue at hand,” Simon hastily said. “Why would Whitten Hall request workers if it had ceased shipments of iron to the crown?”

  “Forgive me, sir, but I have no answer,” Luthor stammered as he tried to regain his composure. His eyes continued drifting to the still-smiling Mattie. “I know as much as you.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Luthor. I know far more than you.”

  Before Luthor could reply, Simon glanced over his shoulder and scanned one of the handwritten witness accounts provided. “Have you found anything interesting?”

  Luthor sighed, happy to be focused once more on the task at hand. “That depends solely on your definition of interesting, sir.”

  Mattie looked up and frowned. “Your definition of interesting hardly matters in this case. There’s nothing remotely interesting about Whitten Hall.”

  Luthor smiled and sat on the bench. “Perhaps not the mining community itself, but there is quite a bit fascinating about the eyewitness reports, especially as they pertain to the attacks that took place on this very train.”

  Simon took another sip of tea before he recalled his displeasure with his first drink. “Yes, the attacks,” he groaned as he set the tea down lest he make the same mistake again. “What have you discovered about the monsters that have attacked the train?”

  “Quite a bit,” Luthor replied, “and yet, surprisingly, next to nothing at all.”

  “Do explain.”

  “Well, sir, it appears that the attacks weren’t against the train, as one would surmise, but instead took place within the train itself. Witnesses report seeing a thick mist filling the car moments before a monster appeared.”

  “Does the report give any inclination as to what manner of monster attacked the trains?” Simon asked.

  Luthor turned the pages but shook his head. “It does not, only that the creatures emerged from a supernatural mist.”

  Simon frowned. “That hardly narrows down the genre of beast. How could they not know?”

  “Normal men aren’t like you and me, sir. A normal man doesn’t stare into the face of the monster with abject curiosity. They merely turn and run.”

  Simon crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall behind him. “Then they’re missing the best part.”

  Luthor reached up and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “Agreed, sir, but that’s why you’re an exceptional Inquisitor but a queer sort of human being.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  “As well it was intended, sir.”

  “So then the mystery continues,” Mattie remarked.

  “Indeed, but the mystery will have to wait until after breakfast,” Simon offered.

  “They’ve already stopped serving breakfast, sir. You slept through it.”

  “Then brunch and, failing that, lunch. I’m truly not a picky man.”

  Luthor shook his head. “No, sir, that you most certainly are not, though you are one that clearly thinks with his stomach.”

  “On the contrary, Luthor, I think with my mind, which, in turn, is fueled by a full stomach. Isn’t the human body a magnificent invention?”

  Luthor laughed despite himself and glanced at Mattie. “Shall we break for a meal?”

  Mattie smiled sheepishly. “Blame it on my animalistic metabolism, but I could most certainly eat again.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Simon said. “To the dining car.”

  The Inquisitor led the trio back through the passenger cars. Their own sleep car beyond was nearly empty, save for a pair of inebriated gentlemen who still hadn’t arisen from the previous night’s festivities. Or, Simon realized with a sly grin, they had already begun the day’s festivities a little early.

  The second sleeping car was likewise nearly empty, though it was a narrower walk through which they had to traverse. Their passage was made more complicated by personal affects hanging from the sides of the beds, filling up the narrow walkway even further.

  As they opened the door separating the sleep car from the dining car, they were nearly bowled over by a small group of men hastily retreating. Simon stood his ground even as the first of the men crashed unceremoniously into him. He grasped the man by the shoulder and thrust him against the nearest bunk beds. The other men halted behind him, though they glanced nervously over their shoulders.

  “Have you forgotten your manners?” Simon asked angrily. “You nearly knocked over the lady.”

  “There’s mist in the dining car,” the man stammered, his eyes wide with fright. “It’s like they said; something is coming!”

  To his surprise, Simon let the man go. He and his compatriots hurried past the trio and escaped toward the rear of the train.

  Simon and Luthor exchanged knowing glances as they turned toward the vestibule. Simon drew his pistol and pulled back the hammer, ensuring he was ready to fire when needed.

  The dining car door had swung shut behind the men, but the narrow glass window gave them ample view of the room beyond. A white mist clung to the floor. It appeared to originate near the far end of the dining car, where it was thickest and had billowed upward, concealing the far wall completely. Its tendrils of smoke drifted across the dining car until they crashed silently against the door before Simon.

  Simon pulled open the door and stepped aside as the mist wafted over the narrow catwalk and was quickly carried away by the strong cross breeze. With his pistol at the ready, he stepped into the room.

  Despite the fleeing gentlemen they encountered earlier, the car was not empty, as he would have surmised. A few dinner guests appeared transfixed, either with fear or curiosity. They watched the mist ebb and flow from its point of origin, as though anticipating the inevitable emergence of the monster.

  “You,” Simon said, pointing toward the closest group of startled patrons, “come here. Hurry now, we haven’t much time.”

  His calm words broke them from their stupor, and they rushed to his side. Luthor led them through the dining car door and to the relative safety of the sleeping car beyond.

  “Madam?” Simon asked, gesturing toward a blonde woman. She stood unmoving even as the growing cloud of mist swallowed the table beside which she stood. “Madam, come to me.”

  As she turned toward him, a dark shadow emerged from the mist directly behind her. The creature looked nearly human, with the exception of its bloodless pale skin and elongated fingernails, which it used to point menacingly toward the woman. She screamed as her humanoid attacker stepped to her side and clutched her shoulders firmly in its grasp.

  The creature tilted its head backward and opened its mouth, revealing a pair of spear-like fangs. The woman’s eyes rolled backward as she e
dged toward a faint and her head lolled lazily to one side, exposing her uncovered neck.

  The vampire, for that was most certainly what it was, quickly leaned forward, its fangs brushing the exposed skin just above her collarbone.

  A gunshot rang out. The bullet whizzed past the woman’s ear and struck the vampire in the forehead. The creature jerked backward, losing its grip on the woman as it did so. She collapsed where she stood, falling to the floor awkwardly with her legs splayed painfully beneath her.

  The vampire vanished into the thick mist as it collapsed. The white smoke seemed to absorb it, leaving no trace exposed beyond its clinging tendrils.

  “Open the doors and windows,” Simon ordered. “We need to clear this mist from the room at once.”

  Mattie and Luthor hurried to either side of the room and unlatched the windows. A stiff breeze quickly filled the room. The mist spun and eddied at their feet as it was pulled from the dining car.

  As the mist was drawn from the room, Simon approached the far side of the dining car with caution, his pistol still raised at the ready. The mist clung to his legs, cascading over his shoes even as it was drawn toward the open windows.

  Slowly, the mist began to clear. Simon paused briefly at the side of the unconscious woman and placed his fingers gently on the side of her neck as he checked for a pulse. Her heartbeat was strong, but he felt the tackiness of blood as he withdrew his hand. Glancing at her prostrate form, he saw a pair of thin lines where the vampire’s fangs had scratched through the topmost layer of skin.

  As he turned his attention back toward the thick mist against the far wall, he was startled to see the soles of a pair of boots emerge from the white smoke. In nearly the same position as he had fallen after being shot, the vampire’s corpse was revealed as the mist receded.

  Simon felt his own heartbeat quicken at the sight. He assumed everything to be a trap, especially when dealing with the supernatural. Vampires, if his superstition studies were true, could transform into mist or polymorph into bats or wolves. A single gunshot, even one accurately placed between the monster’s brows, surely wouldn’t have been enough to bring it down.

  “It looks dead,” Luthor remarked as he approached.

  “Appearances can be deceiving,” Simon replied. Using the barrel of his pistol, he nudged the creature’s foot. The foot fell limply to the side without resistance.

  “I believe it more than simply looks dead. I believe this creature really is deceased.”

  As the last of the mist dissipated, they could see the large pool of blood that had spread underneath the vampire’s shattered skull. The two men exchanged glances.

  With a deep breath, Luthor approached the vampire. He knelt beside the creature’s shoulder and reached for its neck.

  “There’s no pulse,” Luthor remarked.

  “Vampires shouldn’t have pulses to begin with, should they?” Mattie asked from behind Simon.

  “Did you have something special loaded into that pistol, pray tell?” Luthor asked. “Wooden bullets, holy water, or extract of garlic?”

  Simon shook his head. “Nothing other than the normal lead bullets. Are vampires, by nature, allergic to lead?

  “In my experience, most living creatures have a fatal allergy to lead,” Mattie offered.

  Luthor nodded. “True, though vampires are presumably immune to such simple attacks. By mythology, they were supposed to regenerate from simple wounds.”

  Simon joined Luthor and knelt down beside the vampire as well, running his fingers through the bright red blood. Pulling his hand back, he rubbed his fingers together, raised them to his nose, and smelled the pungent scent of blood.

  “I’m assuming from mythological reports that they certainly didn’t bleed this much.”

  Luthor shook his head. “The undead barely bled at all, having already been drained of all their blood when they were turned.”

  Simon reached up and pulled open the man’s mouth. Reaching in, he ran his fingers along the canines.

  “Do be careful,” Luthor said. “I’m not saying I believe this to be a true vampire, but I would hate for you to become infected simply because of carelessness.”

  Simon snorted. “I think I’m safe. If I were to become infected with vampirism, I’m assuming you would kill me?”

  “Without hesitation.”

  Simon grabbed a hold of the man’s long fang and tugged, pulling it free from his mouth with minimal effort. He held the smooth, white tooth in front of his face so the apothecary could examine it.

  “I don’t think you need to worry about infections,” Simon said. “It’s a veneer. This man is no more a vampire than you or I.”

  Luthor took the tooth and held it up to the electric light. “It’s an elaborate ruse, but for what purpose? How did he coalesce from the smoke?”

  Simon looked at the corpse as Luthor took the veneer and stood, holding the false fang to the light filtering through the window. The corpse was well dressed, wearing a double-breasted suit jacket covering a vest underneath. Simon patted the exposed pockets but found nothing of interest. When he reached into the man’s inner breast pocket, however, he smiled broadly. He pulled free a rectangular ticket, recently punched for the train ride.

  “He didn’t suddenly appear. He’d been on the train the whole time.”

  “Then how did he emerge from the mist?” Mattie asked. “It seemed fairly supernatural to me.”

  Luthor lowered the veneer and stepped over the expanding pool of blood. Near the back of the dining car, a table had been set nearly against the wall. Wisps of white mist still poured down the wall from a concealed origin. Reaching tentatively into the mist, Luthor felt the sharp edges of an alcove, inset into the wall just above head level. As his fingers probed further into the alcove, he came in contact with something that was bone-chillingly cold. He withdrew his hand with a start but quickly summoned the confidence to reach within the alcove once more.

  The cold seemed to emanate from a concealed container, one clearly made of metal. As Luthor’s hand found a handle, he withdrew the container. Mist trailed behind it, even as the metal bucket emerged from the alcove.

  With a hasty wave of his hand, Luthor cleared away the clinging mist and smiled appreciatively.

  “This isn’t a case of supernatural at all, but rather science. Dry ice, to be exact. Mixed with water, it creates an impressive cloud of fog or smoke. Properly placed as it was near the upper corner of the dining car, it would flow down the wall, concealing the back portion of the train car while quickly crawling eerily across the floor. You’re correct, sir. This is nothing more than a hoax.”

  “An elaborate one at that,” Simon replied as he, too, stood from beside the corpse. “This is not a fly-by-night operation, but one that clearly consisted of significant preparation and planning.”

  All three of them were nearly thrown from their feet as the engineer applied the brakes on the train. Metal screeched as the wheels abruptly stopped their rotations. Sparks flew as metal ground against metal and the train slid to a stop.

  “What in the devil?” Simon asked angrily.

  His question was quickly answered by a loud commotion outdoors. They rushed to the window as a large portion of the train’s population disembarked, their luggage in tow.

  “There was a monster on board, I tell you,” one man yelled, his voice being heard clearly above the din of nervous conversation.

  “Come, Luthor, we need to put a stop to this nonsense at once.”

  They hurried off the train, stepping between the cars and emerging into the middle of the growing crowd of mortified patrons.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please calm yourself,” Simon shouted, though his words were lost amidst the multitude of people talking simultaneously.

  “No job is worth the risk of being attacked by a magical abomination,” someone yelled.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll simply listen to me,” Simon tried again. “There is no threat. It was merely a hoax.�
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  A few people nearby turned as Simon spoke, but most continued to ignore his warnings. Drawing his pistol, Simon fired into the air. The crowd grew suddenly quiet, and all eyes turned toward the Inquisitor.

  Simon slowly lowered and holstered his pistol. He coughed politely as he ensured he had everyone’s undivided attention.

  “Forgive me for startling you all, but it seemed the only sensible way to get your attention. My name is Royal Inquisitor Simon Whitlock, on assignment to investigate the very rumors of attacks on the train to Whitten Hall. Clearly, I can confirm that attacks have occurred.”

  People turned to one another but Simon raised his hand, begging for continued silence and attention. “What is not confirmed, however, is that these attacks have anything to do with the supernatural. What I killed in the car behind me was no monster. It was merely a man, a charlatan, plying his crafts of deception and misdirection. More importantly, he’s now dead, which means we can all board the train once more and be on our way.”

  “We appreciate everything you’ve done thus far, Inquisitor,” a balding man stated as he emerged from the crowd, “but forgive us for not wanting to board the train once again. I would rather take my chances here, in the wilderness, than risk another attack of the same. I think I speak for a good portion of the ladies and gentlemen behind me.”

  Murmurs of assent spread through the crowd.

  Simon shook his head and sighed. “I have neither the inclination nor the desire to explain all the reasons you’re being foolish. If you don’t wish to board this train again, then so be it. However, I have a mission that I would like to accomplish with all haste. Therefore, if it’s all the same to you, those that are boarding, please do so now.”

  Luthor leaned over and whispered to Simon. “What of those that refuse to get back on the train?”

  Simon arched an eyebrow. “To hell with them. I refuse to drag this mission out longer than absolutely necessary over general ignorance.” He turned toward the confused conductor and smiled. “All aboard who are coming aboard.”

  Less than half the original patrons boarded the train before it pulled away from its impromptu stop. As Luthor watched those who refused to return to the train disappear into the distance behind them, Simon draped a tablecloth over the false vampire. The white linen quickly absorbed the deep red blood, leaving a halo around the corpse’s broken head.